Ruins and Roots

The explosion blew the roof off the tower.

When Elara woke, it was quiet.

The autumn wind was gone. Sunlight—real, warm sunlight—was streaming through the shattered walls.

She was lying on the stone floor. She pushed herself up. Her body felt heavy, solid. The gray transparency was gone. She felt pain in her cheek, a sharp stinging throb.

"Elara?"

She turned.

Kaelen was sitting against the wall.

The stone was gone. The mud was gone. The moss was gone.

He was a man. He was naked from the waist up, shivering.

But he wasn't the Golden Lord.

Where the moss veins had been, there were now silver scars. They ran like lightning across his chest, up his neck, and down his arms. His skin was weather-beaten, rough. He looked older. He looked... real.

He looked at her. He looked at the blood on her cheek.

He scrambled over to her, his movements frantic.

"Your face," he whispered, hovering his hands over the cut. "Elara, your face."

Elara touched the wound. It would scar. A long, thin line.

"It matches yours," she said, tracing the silver line on his chest.

Kaelen looked at her. He didn't look away. For the first time in ten years, he looked into a mirror—her eyes—and didn't hate what he saw.

"I am not beautiful anymore," he said, his voice thick with wonder. "I am scarred."

"You look like the earth," Elara smiled, tears leaking from her eyes. "And the earth holds up the sky."

Kaelen let out a laugh. It was a rusty, creaky sound, but it was real. He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her shorn hair.

"I love you," he sobbed. "I love you, plain Elara. I love you, brave Elara."

"I know," she whispered, holding him tight.

Outside, the briars were turning brown and crumbling to dust. The first green shoots of spring were pushing through the mud.

They had a castle to rebuild. It would be hard work. They would have scars. But as they sat together in the ruin of the tower, holding each other in the sunlight, Elara knew that the storybook was wrong.

Happily ever after wasn't about being perfect. It was about surviving the winter, and blooming anyway.